


Dr. Thompson

by Cruel_Irony



Series: HappyJarryHolidays [4]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, physiotherapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19406749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruel_Irony/pseuds/Cruel_Irony
Summary: Happy Jarry Holidays Week Two: Orange - healing, adventure, independence. Physiotherapy AUJames begins physiotherapy after waking up from a year-long coma and it's more frustrating than he imagined. Not only is progress slow and the countless exercises monotonous, but his attraction to his physiotherapist has become rather problematic.





	Dr. Thompson

“You need to be patient, James. These things don’t happen over night.” Harry, James’ long-suffering physiotherapist repeats for the thousandth time in an ever patient voice. As much as James admires the man’s perseverance and tolerance, this understanding bullshit is starting to grate. He just wants someone to agree with him that this rehabilitation is taking too fucking long. He’s been told to be patient for weeks and no one seems to understand that patience isn’t the first thing on his list after waking up from a year long coma.

“Well, they should. It’s very inconsiderate.” James snaps back at Harry. He ran out of smart things to say five sessions ago. Any other doctor James knows would be smug about winning yet another argument, or they would at least be a little patronising about it, but Harry just smiles, amused and sympathetic. It’s the closest to understanding James has experienced since he woke up, and really, that smile is the only reason James still picks these fights.

Harry pushes his chair away from James and rolls to his desk. “I think that’s us done for today.” He says as he types away at his computer. “Do you want me to print off the new activities? Maybe your son can help you with them until next time?”

“I want you to go on a date with me.” James says, only half joking. It’s not the first time James has flirted with his physio, nor is it the first time he actually means it. He’s been admiring Harry’s physique and his adorable smile since their first session, and he’s been half in love with the man since around their third.

James delights is seeing the faint blush creep up Harry’s neck and the way he clears his throat and focuses super hard on his work. He might have taken it for being super-straight and embarrassed, were it not for overhearing one of the nurses in the hospital ask him about a date with some guy called Vernon. And no, James was not smug about it going badly, he has no claim over Harry. Except he was happy because it meant Harry was still painfully gay and single.

“Is that a yes, or can you remember them?” Harry steers the conversation back on topic.

“I’m afraid I had other things on my mind. Do you like flowers? Or do you prefer chocolates on the first date?” James grabs the steering wheel and pulls. He’s a terrible backseat driver.

“I prefer to keep my personal and professional lives separate. I’ll just print them off anyway.” The printer by the window churns to life, chugging and puffing loudly.

James sighs, maybe next time. “I’ll see you on Friday, Dr. Thompson.” James accepts the printing with a wink, tucking them into his jacket pocket before picking up his sleek, ebony walking stick - because only the best will do for James Nightingale and if he must use a twig to walk, it will be pretty one.

“Not a doctor, James.” Harry quips with no heat. In fact, James rather thinks Harry is flattered by the little nickname. “See you Friday.”

James hobbles gracefully out of the room and through the hospital. He passes Grace Black in her garishly decorated wheelchair as she is called in for her appointment with Harry. Just as he is approaching the reception, where is son, who grew up too fast over the course of a year, is waiting to take him home, someone calls him back.

“Mr Nightingale, might I have a word?” James turns and finds a long faced and heavily wrinkled man in scrubs beckoning him into an office. His sparkling blue eyes and silver hair might have reminded James of his father on a bad day, but there’s something rather innocuous about the man that belays comparison. He follows the man in to his office and gratefully takes a seat.

“What is this about? I don’t think we’ve met?”

The man hold out his hand. “Doctor Edward Hutchinson, one of the senior surgeons at the hospital. But, I think most importantly, I’m Harry’s grandfather.”

“Oh.” Crap.

“I raised that boy since he was yea high. I taught him how to ride a bike, among other things. He will always be my first priority. Let’s get that straight right now. I only want what’s best for him.”

“I can see where this is going, Dr Hutchinson, but Harry is my physiotherapist and nothing more.” Oh, how those words hurt, like a stake through the heart, but the last thing he wants to do is get Harry in trouble with his grandfather. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Dr Hutchinson does not look impressed. He stares blankly at James, those beady eyes an endless ocean horizon, until James thinks he might crack under the weight of that gaze. James can’t imagine Harry being raised by such an inscrutable man, he would wither under his gaze, his every secret known before he knows them himself.

“I should hope so, Mr Nightingale. Because, were there anything unprofessional going on between the two of you, Harry would be the one to face the consequences of taking advantage of a patient under his care. Starting a relationship now would be ill-advised. It would be inappropriate. Some could accuse him of having forced his intentions on you - I’m sure you are aware of some of the details of the Buster Smith case, being a lawyer, and of the stigma surrounding the perceived intimacy of physiotherapy as represented in the media - and I would prefer my grandson not be embroiled in an internal investigation. I would ask that you hold off on making further advances towards Harry until you have been formally discharged from his care, and a grace period of a week has passed.”

James blinks, stupefied. Wasn’t the man supposed to be warning James away? Or did he just miss something? “I don’t think I follow you, Dr Hutchinson.”

“Really.” The doctor nods thoughtfully. He narrows his eyes at James, as if looking at him through a new lens. “I thought you were a lawyer, or do the six years of law school not weed out the idiots like they used to? Maybe you’re not as good for my grandson as I thought you were. Though I suppose anything’s better than the last one.” The doctor trails off, lost in reminiscing.

“Hold on. You want me to ask Harry out?”

“Well, yes. Harry’s smitten.”

“But you’re asking me to wait until I’ve been discharged to ask him out?”

“I had assumed you’d feel the same about Harry keeping his job and reputation.”

“No, of course. I just… wasn’t expecting the conversation to go this way.”

“How else would it go?”

“Stay away from my grandson or else.”

Dr Hutchinson shrugs. “Now that we’re on the same page, I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr Nightingale.” The man stands. James mirrors him. They shake hands again.

Still in a stupor, James leaves the office and is bombarded by Romeo asking what took him so long his appointment ended ten minutes ago. He opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to express what just happened. Harry’s grandfather approves of him, and clearly Harry has talked about him, or at least given the man some indication of his feelings, which means that James isn’t barking up the wrong tree. That’s a relief. But now he’s suddenly aware of the implications of fancying the pants off his physiotherapist. Maybe he should tone it down, but what if Harry starts to think he doesn’t fancy him anymore? That certainly can’t be allowed to happen. There is a fine line to walk here, James determines, and walk it he shall.

*

The following Friday, Harry calls James in for their appointment. They discuss the exercises, test James’ mobility then decide on the next steps. Since waking up from a year long coma after being poisoned by his own father, James has treated every set back as a stopping point and every success as participation medal, but the way Harry talks about it all, taking it all in stride with ruthless optimism, has infected James. He takes pride in going a day without dropping things or stumbling. He even understands the complex concept of two steps forward one step back. And all of it is due to Harry, the greatest physiotherapist in the world.

It’s also why James finds it so hard to stop flirting. Half in love with Harry as he is, flirting and innuendos - any form of verbal acknowledgment of his feelings - have become as natural as breathing, and stopping is like not breathing, impossible to do without dying. He finds this out when they are halfway through the appointment and the urge to say something suggestive is so overwhelming that he blurts it out. It lacks finesse and the right tone and context. It’s verbal diarrhoea and he feels like such a berk.

Surprisingly, Harry seems to take James’ verbal incontinence better than he took the incessant flirting. He laughs, loudly and outrageously. It’s more open than he has been since their first session. His eyes light up, sparkling under the fluorescent hospital lights. When he smiles he reveals such perfectly imperfect teeth, and he smiles so hard his cheeks must ache. He is a vision. James falls the rest of the way in love. This beautiful man, who laughs not unkindly at James’ embarrassing mistakes, who has the most amazing smile, owns his heart.

“What was that?” Harry manages to ask, once his laughter has subsided.

James looks away, embarrassed, before realising that Harry is nicest, kindest, sweetest person on the planet and he isn’t going to react badly - it would be contrary to his DNA. “I’ve been trying not to flirt with you, but it appears I am incapable. I apologise.”

“So that’s what’s been different.” At James’ furrowed brow, Harry elaborates. “You haven’t been flirting with me. It was… disconcerting. But you don’t have to apologise for — whatever the hell that was. It’s the most I’ve laughed in a long time, it was nice.”

James tries not to blush under Harry’s earnest gaze. He doesn’t quite succeed. “Well, at least it was in front of you. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if Romeo or Juliet saw.”

“Me neither. It’d probably end up on the internet by the end of the day, a meme by the next.”

“I’m not going to pretend to know what that is.” James’ heart flutters when Harry laughs again. Just a giggle-chuckle, a burst of laughter, but it counts.

“Why have you stopped flirting, though? It’s not something I did, is it?”

“No, no. I’ve just been informed that outsider might misconstrue our relationship as something inappropriate. So I’m merely waiting until I have been discharged to…”

“To what?” By Harry’s smirk, he already knows what James wants to do.

James looks him dead in the eye, completely serious, all joking and flirting aside. “To ask you out on a date.”

“Does this mean you’ll put more effort into your physio?”

“With you I’ll put in more than just effort.” Says James with a sly wink. It’s nice to see Harry blush again. “What would you say?”

“I thought you were going to wait.”

“I’ll find another physiotherapist.”

“No, you won’t.” And to James’ complete surprise, Harry winks back at him.


End file.
